Chaos Theory: Part ? or ? (Open)

[Foresaken By War]

This is open- We can go in many directions, this can be a battle, a quest, or something of the sort. I have a small idea of what I'm going to do for each, I need some character interaction first and then we can descide.

War in all pretenses of the word is defined as being an aggressive business conflict, hostility between people, suffering by people, and armed fighting as a profession, science, or art. Aralian walked through this desolate plain thinking of his past, if you could see his face from underneath his hood you would see his depression pressing on him. His past had only been of war and practicing war, and now he had nothing. He did not have a friend or family on the outside, and worst of all he had no idea where to look for either.

As the scenery past more from darkness to day light, he continued to walk. He could see that the area he had began his journey through was not the most scenic. The day was just beginning and it was dark and hazy. Sheet after sheet of grey ominous clouds lurked around the sky, looking down on the world with such hatred. The grass, if you could call it that, was a dead brown coloration often times there would be a few spots of black with a couple of rusted objects and a skull. Obviously it was a mark where somebody had died.

This brought an unknown curiosity to Aralian, which made him pay a little more attention to his surroundings. He turned to view the scenery behind him, there was nothing special. Ahead of him was flat with a few dead trees and some dead and dying shrubberies, and a couple of boulders that stuck out of the ground in different heights and shapes. He turned again, this time looking to his right flank. In the distance he could see some nefarious looking mountains, they appeared even darker to him than this place. They mountains were a good distance away, and the area ahead of him was laced with dead trees and what appeared to be a couple of hills.

His eyes peeled around again, as his body turned to check out his left flank. There was nothing of importance, a dried up creek bed in some rolling hills, with again some decaying trees and boulders scattered throughout the decaying grass. This area reeked of pure death. Ahead of him, almost exactly the same, except in a small patch of dead blackberry bushes sat a small sign. It was tattered and beaten from whatever had killed everything else. More importantly though, it showed direction and gave this place a name. The sign was in Elvish, Welcome to the L'Renor Harlilen. He removed his hood to get a close look at the rest. Corone- 100miles, High Elf Castle- 33 Miles, Kachuk-40miles.

He turned to face the direction he was walking again. Looking ahead of him in the distance he could barely make out the top of the high elf kingdom. It was the castle of the same elves that kicked him out of his only way of life. If he turned to his right he could make out the land of the dwarves, the same bastards who decided to destroy his only friend and cause him to get kicked out of the army. Hatred was building inside of him, and it was best he sat down for a while. He nestled down on the hard ground right new to the giant decaying tree on his left hand flank. He was sitting at such an angle where he could see both of the haunting directions. Many emotions were hitting Aralian right now, he just hoped that no one came along to get the bad end of this deal.

[thewriter]

But unfortunately, someone was.

Narida Cestelle was behind one of the great boulders, preparing a fire while her wolf Neoku laid down next to her, watching her work.

When she caught the spark and set the pile ablaze, she looked around the desolate land. The ebony soil that could never grow because it only drank blood. The Land of Eternal Death, said one beast elf who returned after banishment. She was only a little girl then. He spoke of lands black as the night sky, without the stars and moon. A land that could never grow, and nearby was a peak of elves as powerful as they were haughty and arrogant. It was then she witnessed her first execution. She was fourteen years old. Very young for an elf.

Yet it seems I didn't believe him till I was banished myself,She thought to herself. It was now that she thought of home again. Home. Hidden away deep in the thickest of the forests, with many traps along the way that nobody can survive, unless you know them. But inside, despite the lack of technology it was so...warm. She liked the smell of the beast skin clothing and the traditional body paint that every man and woman donned every day after the Morning Wash. She missed the smell of herbs being ground into the stone, and the smell of her father. Often times had he cherished her, and every time he smelled like the earth. Like the hard-earned sweat on one's brow, like his proud wolf, Rikhsha, who was even bigger than Neoku(Which is surprising, since Neoku's head was level with her shoulder).

But most of all, she missed the celebrations. When the grain was harvested and fruits picked and nuts gathered and animals killed. There were many drums that boomed with sound those nights, many a dance, many a song. those were the times she was happiest, for those were the times that faces all blurred, and nobody recognized her eyes. Nobody shied away from her because of her spirit gray eyes. She wasn't believed to be the Living Ghost that she was named, but she was one of them - and now that was gone. Yet the songs weren't.

As the fire began to crackle, she reached into her pack tentatively. Why she was doing this, she didn't know. Neoku picked up his head, intent on her actions.

"It's alright little brother - you should remember this," she told him. from the pack she withdrew one of the only things she could take with her upon banishment - her favorite drum. sleek panther skin that she skinned herself was bare of any fur, and the black skin that was stretched across the ghostly white wood was smooth as anything else and made a buttery tone when struck.

Narida often did not think of home. But every time she did, all she remembered was the last celebration, the blur of it, the song she sang...the joy in the slow song. She did not feel like there was anyone around, so timidly, she took off the mask that shielded her face from so many scars, and put it away, leaving her beautiful face and spun platinum hair exposed. Neoku was fully attentive now.

Slowly, she began beating on the drum to the rhythm of the song...the Morning Song.

the song itself is here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h40TdZcbjDE&feature=related

It was a shame for the village when she did leave, for her voice was not a bad one. she remembered the song well, and kept with it. She heard her voice reverberate against the empty space and echo across the dead lands. But her eyes were closed as she remembered it all, Neoku at her side to wake her from her dream should someone come. But for the first time in over three decades, Narida was singing the song of her people. And in the black, barren land she had to camp in, she needed all the joy she could get.